


Are you with me after all

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse 2.0 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, IronDad and SpiderSon, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Partying, Protective Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trauma, Vomiting, event not described
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Protocol for this sort of thing may have changed from back when he was in school, but he’s certain he’s got this part right. “It’s not your fault. Whatever it was—whoever— if something happened and you didn’t want it, it’s never your fault.”“But—” Peter’s lower lip wobbles. He gulps, and the last modicum of focus drifts from his eyes.Tony’s glad when the dry heaves take over again.  t’s easier to hover his hand over the back of the kid’s neck and murmur sweet nothings. It’s easier to hear the pained gags than the excuses.I said no, but he heard yes. I said I felt sick, and he said he’d make it better. I didn’t say anything…They’re all familiar. Mostly from newscasts and Pepper’s endless loop of NPR. College was a long time ago, and there were many substances at those parties. So many. Tony doubts anyone has a clear memory of exactly what went down.Like this kid’s memory?  His kid, for all practical purposes. The one sitting in front of him, still wet with beer.Peter looses an extended gag that turns to a thin, rasping sob. Tony purses his lips, sucking them in until he makes a disgusting sound. Then he lets out his breath. Whoever hurt this kid is a monster. Not Tony.





	Are you with me after all

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Kavanaugh hearings and Me Too movement, Laur bravely pokes around where Marvel has failed go: Tony Stark's frankly despicable behavior toward women.
> 
> As I've said before with previous works, a lot of what I write comes from experience, and, well, please be sensitive to that. 
> 
> This story contains implied sexual assault of a minor. I know that is a highly unpleasant topic, and I've done my best to treat it delicately. This story is about the aftermath of a traumatic event. The specifics of said traumatic event do not factor in. 
> 
> This story also builds on the previous fics in this series, but it is not necessary you read them in order to understand this one. Peter's past mental health struggles are mentioned, as is his relationship with Harry Osborn, but again, I did not write out all the details. There are no EDs in this fic.
> 
> If you need to chat or just want to poke around on my blog, find me on Tumblr @builder051.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to my beta reader, Mohini.
> 
> The theme song for this fic is Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin. Highly recommend listening to it while reading.

_ Why can't I hear you? _

_ Are you with me after all? _

_ Are you with me through it all? _

_ Then why can't I feel you? _

_____

Odd hours are a fact of life.  Tony’s been a night owl as long as he can remember, staying up late and reading comic books under the tent of his blankets.  It’s a natural instinct. Or maybe it’s just a habit, grown from the fact that no one ever came to check on him and tell him not to.

Whatever it is, it comes in handy now.  The world rarely needs saving between the hours of nine and five, and ideas for tweaks to his suit are similarly sporadic.  When Tony leaves Pepper’s body heat and slips out of bed at two in the morning, he follows the maze of hallways down to the lab by rote.  His feet have the layout of the compound memorized, leaving him free to rub his eyes and plan out what he wants to do with his nanobots.

Just as Tony’s movements are unpredictable, so are those of everyone else who lives here.  Tony and Pepper are the only ones who use the facility as a permanent address. The other team members are part-time at best, hanging around for a few days after missions, then disappearing back to their real homes until duty calls again.  There are exceptions to the rule, though. Tony’s sure he’s seen Thor show up, raid the kitchen, and vanish. And Peter comes by at least once a week whether Tony invites him or not.

Unlike the adults, the kid keeps to a fairly regular schedule.  Tony doesn’t normally see him before three in the afternoon, and he’s always on his way safely back to Queens before midnight.  That part’s more for Tony’s peace of mind. He can already see Peter picking up some of his workaholic tendencies. He doesn’t need the kid hanging around to witness inspired insomnia at its finest, complete with scotch and Red Bull on the rocks.

Tony comes out of the stairwell and crosses the ground floor, headed toward the door to the lab.  He looks up when he notices a shadow pass the facility’s glass facade. Even with grit still stuck to his eyelids, he can see the reddish glow of the retina scanner firing up as the figure leans toward it, and the whole scene is illuminated by a set of headlights in the driveway.  It’s a shortish, maleish person. Maybe Barton. Or possibly Barnes. In other words, not his problem. 

The front door clicks as it unlocks.  Tony’s set to ignore it and vanish into the lab before he has to exchange pleasantries, but he’s a second too slow.  

“Heeeeey!  Mr. Stark!”

Only one person on the planet calls him that.  And that person normally isn’t slurring. Or clinging to the door handle for dear life.  

Tony blinks hard to make sure he’s not dreaming.  Peter gives him a dazed grin. His hair’s mussed and his jacket’s inside out, but none of that is as concerning as the heavy glaze to his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony says, looking the kid up and down.  “What’s going on? I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

“Me either,” Peter says at half-speed.

“Right.”  Tony bites his lip.  He glances over the kid’s shoulder, squinting at the car in the driveway.  He recognizes the sensible Buick he’d presented for Peter’s 16th birthday. How the hell did he make it here without crashing?  Spider-sensing his way between the curbs and medians? 

“Why don’t I take your keys?  Just for a little bit.” Tony sees the fob clutched in the kid’s hand.  Tony hasn’t added any after-market bells and whistles to the vehicle, but now he wonders if he should. 

“But — ”  Peter looks down at his hand.

“I’ll give ‘em back.  I promise.” Tony wiggles his fingers, but it doesn’t work as enticement.  

 

What does he expect?  He’s dealing with a stoned kid, not a kitten.  But Tony’s out of practice, and frankly, he hadn’t thought he’d see Peter in a state like this.  But he hadn’t anticipated the last couple bombshells either. If substitute fatherhood was a class, he’d be failing for sure. 

Tony takes a deep breath and banishes his mind back to college.  His buddy’s had a few too many, that’s all. That’s a semester he definitely passed.

Tony steps forward.  “Pete. Give ‘em here.  Give me the keys.” 

Peter’s eyes widen.  He quickly reverses, the back of his head clunking against the glass door.  “No, I don’t—” he stutters.

“You’re not going anywhere else tonight.”  Tony holds his hands up in a calming gesture.  “Come on. Let’s get you lying down somewhere.”  There’s a wet spot on the kid’s jeans. “Maybe…cleaned up.”  Tony internally cringes. He’s not ready for that part of fatherhood.  But he’s seen more than one classmate end up on the wrong end of an exploding beer can, or at least that’s what they told him. 

They’re not standing in piss, so beer can it is.  Tony can deal with that.

“Come on,” Tony says again, reaching for Peter’s arm.

The kid’s brow furrows.  He opens his mouth, his throat works furiously, but all that comes out is a wet sound. 

Tony knows what’s coming.  He snatches the keys and stuffs them in his pocket, then braces for the onslaught.  He grabs Peter’s bicep in case he loses his balance, which he does as soon as he heaves.  The door has re-locked itself behind him, so his feet scuffle in place, threatening to drop him face-first into the pool of liquid vomit spreading across the floor.

“Ok.”  Tony holds him still as another rush of clear fluid splashes up.  “Alright. Try to breathe.”

Peter sputters.  He lifts his arm, but can’t seem to figure out how to slide it between Tony’s face and his own. Or remember that he has another one hanging limply by his side.  He hacks, flecks of spit flying.

A droplet hits Tony’s cheek, and he wipes it on his shoulder as the kid vomits again.  “Yup, just get it up,” Tony encourages. “You’ll feel better. Trust me.”

Peter breaks off coughing.  “No,” he chokes. “No, I-I can’t—”

“Hey, slow down.”  Peter’s muscles tense in Tony’s grip.  He won’t look at him. Tony wants to grab the kid’s chin, to force eye contact and be sure Peter sees his lips move and knows he means what he says.  “You’re not in trouble, ok?”

“I don’t…”  He doesn’t understand.  He doesn’t feel well. He doesn’t want Tony’s hands on him.  The kid doesn’t have the presence of mind to communicate any of it, and it makes Tony’s chest hurt to watch him struggle.  He hasn’t felt that kind of ache since he had the arc reactor removed. 

 

Actually, that’s not true.  He felt it the last time he saw Peter break down.  He’d cried first that time, then he threw up. As soon as the memory plays out, Tony also remembers why he doesn’t like to call it back up.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter rasps.

“Pete…”  Tony shakes his head.  He looks around, gauging the best place to set the kid down.  The floor is as good a spot as any. At least the tile’s easy to clean.  “You’re drunk. Or fucked up. Or...whatever. I don’t care.” Tony guides Peter to sit and lean against the wall.  “I mean, I do care. That you’re ok. But parties happen. Hangovers happen.”

Peter’s operating on a ten-second delay.  He zeroes in on one word, and Tony regrets saying it.  “I fucked up,” Peter murmurs. “I fucked up.” His voice is already cracked, and it shatters as he dissolves into tears.  “I fucked up. God, I’m so… I couldn’t…”

“No,” Tony tries to reassure him.  He may not have expected this from Peter, but he’s not going to hold it against him.  “It’s alright. You’re allowed to make mistakes. You’ll be fine.” He thinks a few steps ahead, to getting the kid upstairs and into bed.  Maybe to the bathroom first. He’s still way too pale.

“I thought I’d be real quiet,” Peter sobs.  “And no one would see me.”

“Well, I’m pretty glad I did see you.  Otherwise you might’ve slipped and given yourself a concussion or something.  If you get hurt here, I’m still liable.” Tony isn’t sure why he says it. The kid doesn’t care.

“Where’s…  Where’s Harry?”  Peter gives a sick hiccup.  “I can’t find him. Anywhere.”

“You’re not...wherever you were anymore.  You’re not at the party. You left, remember?”

Peter just stares at him blankly.  “I don’t know where he went. I want to go…  But...don’t leave me alone with — ”  The kid retches.  He looks genuinely surprised at the splash of bile that comes up.  

“It’s fine.”  Tony can still smell tequila.  

“I’ll just...be real quiet,” Peter sputters.  “No one will see me.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

Peter gags again.  This time it’s dry, save for a few strings of mucous and spit.  The sight is pitiful, and Tony can’t keep from reaching out to pat the kid’s shoulder.

Peter deflates at the touch, his chest caving.  He tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere for him to go without toppling over.  He balances in quivering limbo for a second, then gives up, pressing his cheek into the wall as if he’d rather have its cold comfort than Tony’s.  “I’ll just...I’m sorry.”

Tony tries to think of something to say, some way to twist his words into a reassurance Peter will understand, but his mind takes off in a different direction.  Tony sees much of his teenage self in the kid—the brilliance, the excitement to learn, the desire to fit in and simultaneous strength to stand out... 

But there are fundamental differences too.  Tony’s outspoken. Peter’s anxious. Anxious enough to get worked up over a drunken night out.  But the sneaking, the apologies... Tony recognizes it, even though it’s not something he’s experienced before.  At least not from this side. It’s not just regret. It’s a walk of shame.

“Oh god.  Pete?” Tony lets his hand fall into his lap.  “What happened?”

Peter’s gaze is downcast.  Tony doesn’t see his eyes fill with tears, but he hears the sniffles.  Crystalline droplets cling to the kid’s lashes and shiver there for a moment before letting go and joining the mess of dampness on his clothes.  “I don’t…” His voice fades out. 

Tony’s heart hammers, beating against his ribcage until the sound fills his entire body and rises louder than Peter’s shaky breaths.  “Was it Harry?” he asks tentatively. “Did…something happen? With him?” 

“ _ No! _ ”  The force of it surprises Tony.  And Peter too, it seems. The kid’s head snaps up and connects with the wall.  It’s the second time he’s done that in the last few minutes alone. Tony wants to move somewhere safer, to keep him from doing any more damage.  But he can’t. Not without exacerbating the harm already dealt, the kind he’s definitely not prepared to hear about. 

But he has to ask again.  “Pete, you can…” Tony squeezes his eyes shut.  “You can tell me. What—? Who—?”

“Not him,” Peter sobs.  He drags his hand sloppily across his face, catching a string of snot.  He tries and fails to detach it from his shaking fingers as he grapples with the words.  “Not…he didn’t…” He finally gives up and looks at Tony. “It’s…my fault…”

“No,” Tony says firmly, shaking his head for good measure.  Protocol for this sort of thing may have changed from back when he was in school, but he’s certain he’s got this part right.  “It’s not your fault. Whatever it was — whoever — if something happened and you didn’t want it, it’s never your fault.”

“But—”  Peter’s lower lip wobbles.  He gulps, and the last modicum of focus drifts from his eyes.

Tony’s glad when the dry heaves take over again.  It’s easier to hover his hand over the back of the kid’s neck and murmur sweet nothings.  It’s easier to hear the pained gags than the excuses. 

_ I said no, but he heard yes.  I said I felt sick, and he said he’d make it better.  I didn’t say anything… _

They’re all familiar.  Mostly from newscasts and Pepper’s endless loop of NPR.  College was a long time ago, and there were many substances at those parties.  So many. Tony doubts anyone has a clear memory of exactly what went down. 

Like this kid’s memory?  His kid, for all practical purposes.  The one sitting in front of him, still wet with beer. 

Peter looses an extended gag that turns to a thin, rasping sob.  Tony purses his lips, sucking them in until he makes a disgusting sound.  Then he lets out his breath. Whoever hurt this kid is a monster. Not Tony. 

“I’m sorry, Pete.”  He uses the collar of the kid’s jacket to wipe clammy sweat from the back of his neck, then drops his hand over it, rocking it gently back and forth.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He’s not a monster.  _ He’s not _ .

Eventually there’s nothing left to purge.  No more alcohol. No more tears. Now that the kid’s stopped throwing up, the entryway seems unnecessarily exposed. 

“What do you wanna do, Pete?”  Tony asks. He’s ashamed of the way his voice shakes.  He’s never spoken the words in this context, in the aftermath.  As for other stages...he’s not sure. He’s ashamed of that, too.  “What can I do?”

The kid just groans softly. 

“D’you want, uh, d’you want Harry?”  That’s a stupid idea, panning off the sobbing highschooler on another highschooler.  “Or May? Want her to come get you?”

“N-no,” Peter breathes.

“Ok, um,” Tony presses on.  “How about the hospital?” He remembers something from the flyers covered in acronyms, the ones he sees in the bathrooms when he visits Rhodey on base.   _ Don’t let the victim eat, drink, or use the bathroom.  Stay with her until help arrives… _

Tony scoffs.  It’s too late, anyway.  The kid’s halfway to dehydrating, and now he is sitting in piss.  But not everything on the water-stained papers is bullshit. “You gotta talk to me, Pete.  You wanna go to the hospital?”  _ Act as soon as possible.  The reporting hotline is available 24 hours a day… _

“I…”  Peter croaks.  He shakes his head.  “I…I don’t feel good.”  He makes a garbled noise and tips sideways into Tony’s shoulder.

“Ok.  I got you.”  Tony catches him around the chest.  Peter’s breathing. Sleeping, maybe.  Or passed out. Tony doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he just wraps the kid in his arms and holds him, warm and limp, until his own breath settles. 

“Ok.  Ok.” If he stays in this moment, Tony can handle it.  He has to. He rises to his knees and slowly stands, shifting Peter’s weight.  He carries the kid to the living room and lays him on the couch. Tony doesn’t care about the bodily fluids soaking into the upholstery.  He’ll buy a new one. He’ll buy a whole new living room set if it helps. 

He settles a trash can near Peter’s head and pulls a bottle of water out of the mini fridge under the bar.  Then Tony uses his phone to adjust the room’s security settings. He turns them up to the max and uses text commands to set FRIDAY to alert him if the kid so much as rolls over.  He calls the bots to start mopping the entryway, then picks across it on his toes, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now. 

Tony doesn’t want to stop moving.  If he does, he’ll start thinking, and he knows he doesn’t want that.  He’s a mechanic. He works through problems with action.

The headlights of Peter’s sedan still blare through the facility’s windows.  Tony hacks the car’s system with a few swipes on his phone, and the glow slowly fades.  The greenish impression of it glows on the backs of Tony’s eyelids, refusing to completely leave him.  It gives him a headache, one he’s sure he’ll have for a long time.

Maybe it’s better he’s not alone in the dark.  Better for the disturbing truth to hang around at arm’s length instead of skulking further until it seems to have vanished, only to sneak up out of nowhere again.  God knows that hasn’t served him well. Tony dials his screen’s brightness to the max and uses the light from it to find the door to the stairwell. 

He taps through his contacts as he walks.  He has entries for six different fire stations.  Eight police precincts. Twelve hospitals in the city, four upstate, and two in Jersey. 

But the kid said no.  He said  _ no _ .  And Tony has to listen.  He owes him that much.

Tony jams his thumbnail against the phone’s power button, but quickly changes his mind when he almost trips over the turn onto the landing.  The contact list stutters to a stop on  _ N _ .  Pepper manages the official Stark Industries address book; Tony only keeps what’s important.  He has just one name under that letter. He lets out a breath of cynical laughter, just in case the universe is pulling a joke.  Then he opens a new message.

_ Can you stop by the facility in the morning? _

Natasha might not be awake.  She might not be in the country.  But she’s seen the kid in crisis before, and frankly, Tony doesn’t know who else to ask.  

 

He remembers what Pepper said to him on that day years ago, when Nat was still Miss Rushman from legal.  Potentially an expensive sexual harassment case.

 

But nothing happened.  They’re fine now. They’ve always been fine.   _ He’s not a monster.   _

 

Nat’s reply lands within thirty seconds.  Tony half expects it to say  _ fuck off _ .  But instead it reads _ K. _

Tony changes clothes in the master bathroom.  He washes his hands and splashes his face, then stands in the doorway, looking at the top of Pepper’s head peeking out from the mountain of bedding. 

It’s only been an hour since he left her bubble of familiar warmth.  Tony can’t remember why. A lot has changed since then. He’s changed.  Tony isn’t sure it’s for the better. 

Pepper stirs when he slides back between the sheets.  “Hey,” she mutters sleepily. “You ok?”

Tony sighs quietly.  “No,” he finally says.

“What’s wrong?”  Pepper’s not even awake, and she’s already fussing. 

Tony can’t tell her.  He’ll have to eventually.  But not yet. Not until he talks to Peter.  Seriously. And soberly. 

“Have I…  Have I ever hurt you, Pep?” Tony asks, a hitch in his voice.  “Or...forced you…?”

“What?”  She rolls to face him.  Pepper blinks a few times, then gently smooths her fingers over the wrinkle between his brows.  “Tony. Why…?”

“Can you just…  Can you answer it?”  Tony’s eyes sting. “Please?”

“Ok,” Pepper says.  She pauses. “No. You’ve never hurt me.” 

Tony exhales shakily. 

“Do I need to worry about you?”  Pepper catches a tear before it runs down Tony’s cheek.

Tony shakes his head.  “No. Don’t worry about me.”  He leans in to kiss her forehead.  “I love you, ok?”

“I know you do,” Pepper says.  “You’re one of the good ones.”

_____

_ Stay with me, don't let me go. _

_ Because there's nothing left at all. _

_ Stay with me, don't let me go. _

_ Until the Ashes of Eden fall. _

 


End file.
